Iceman Impossible
by Sue Penkivech
Summary: X-Men: First Class story - When Jean has a date with a member of the football team, Bobby proves he can strategize. Written for the Livewire Teen team in a public school challenge.


Disclaimer: X-Men: First Class is not mine. Nor is Marvel comics, or its characters. I'm just borrowing them all, and not making profit thereby.

Written for the Livewire contest, with a teen drama in a public school prompt. I sort of missed on the drama section, but they're way too much fun without it! Reviews welcome!

* * *

**Iceman Impossible**

"You've gotta be kidding me."

Bobby stopped dead in the first floor hallway of Westchester High to stare at Warren, ignoring the protests of the other students who were forced to step around him. "You are kidding, right?" he asked hopefully. If it were true, Scott was…

Well, Scott was going to brood. And sulk. And probably run extra training sessions, which would result in him being dragged out of bed an hour earlier than his already too early wake-up time. Which, no matter how you looked at it, couldn't _possibly_ be a good thing.

Warren grinned unrepentantly. "Nope. Got it from Pietro in Chemistry," he paused to wrinkle his nose as if he'd smelled something bad, then continued. "He heard it from Wanda, who heard it straight from Jean herself. Jean's got a date Saturday night."

"Damn." Bobby resumed walking as his mind began racing. Jean had a date. With Calvin Rankin, the Westchester Weasel's star quarterback. Who was the same ass who'd attempted to stuff his head into the toilet just last week.

Moreover, this was going to result in him getting up at 5am. Probably more than once.

"We need to do something about this," he informed Warren with a determined nod as he turned to head into the Biology lab. "Tell Hank. We need a strategy session." The last he shot over his shoulder as he headed into class, and magnanimously ignored the way Warren's jaw dropped.

Granted, his strategic skills might not be on a par with Scott's when it came to missions. But when it came to pranks, there wasn't anyone at Westchester High who could out-plot him. His eyes were already glazing over as he plopped into his seat and pulled out his notebook and pencil.

Maybe they should start with some Kool-aid. Kool-aid was always a good multi-purpose item…

* * *

"Gentlemen, synchronize your watches."

"Robert, while your deliberate utilization of such a historically appropriate phrase is laudable, I rather doubt the precision of our digitalized wrist wear is going to determine the success or failure of this particular mission."

Bobby rolled his eyes. Hank was so not getting into the spirit of things. "It's _tradition_, Hank," he pointed out in exasperation. "It doesn't _matter_ if it's necessary."

"Can't we just get on with this?" Warren complained, glancing at his own watch. "I've got a date with Candy in half an hour. I've got better things to do than stand around in the guy's showers."

This time, the indignant look was directed at Warren. No one ever treated Scott like this on a mission. Well, except him, but that hardly applied here. "Fine. You guys know what you're supposed to do. Pietro, you're ready?"

Pietro Maximoff snorted as if that were a foregone conclusion. "You're certain embarrassing this asswipe will keep my sister from dating football players for all eternity?" he asked by way of a reply.

Bobby nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely. No doubt about it. Wanda'll see him looking like an idiot and be totally turned off football players forever." Whether or not that was true he had no idea – for all he knew, the incredibly hot Scarlet Witch was turned on by football players who looked like idiots. But mentioning the possibility of Jean fixing up Wanda for a double date had been the easiest way to gain her brother's cooperation. All was fair in love and pranks, after all.

"Fine, I'm in, let's get moving before anyone sees me talking to you jerks."

"Maximoff…" Warren began, his voice low, but before he could elaborate Bobby cut in.

"Right. Operation Quarterback Humiliation is a go. Assume your positions." He grinned and rubbed his hands together, ignoring the exasperated looks on his teammates' faces and the fact that Pietro Maximoff was gone before he even finished speaking. This was going to be fun…

An hour later, he wasn't so sure. Hank was still hovering around near Rankin's locker, attempting to look as if he were standing there by chance despite the fact he'd barely moved from the spot. Warren had taken off, pleading boredom, exasperation, the need to stretch his wings, and his date with Candy Southern. Which was okay, Bobby reminded himself. Warren wasn't essential to the plan.

Maximoff was, though, and Bobby hadn't seen hide nor hair of him in ages. It was really too bad he hadn't thought to equip everyone with some kind of walkie-talkie. A hidden camera that would've given them some kind of an idea when the football team was coming in would've been helpful, too.

As if thinking of the speedster somehow summoned him, Pietro appeared in a rush of wind, skidding to a stop inches from where Bobby was hidden behind the locker room door. "Okay they're coming you'd better be right if Wanda dates one of these brainless jerks I'm holding you responsible."

Oh, that was a pleasant thought. Bobby watched Pietro disappear, hopefully to get into position, and made a mental note to beg Jean to direct Wanda's attention to the basketball team.

While he was still considering whether or not basketball players could in any way be grouped in with the football team in Pietro's somewhat warped mind, Rankin clambered into the locker room with a couple of his buddies in tow, stripping off sweat-soaked jerseys and tossing them toward the benches. One of them flew over the lockers and landed on Bobby's shoulder, and he grimaced and shrugged it off, hoping its owner wouldn't come looking for it.

"Hey McCoy, you missed practice," Ranking complained as he pushed past Hank to his locker. "I got creamed out there thanks to you."

"My sincerest apologies," Hank replied in a way that suggested he was anything but. He stepped back from the lockers and threw out his arms in a combined "make way" and "what can you do?" gesture. "I'm afraid my presence was otherwise required at non-curricular disciplinary proceedings."

"What, you got detention?" one of Rankin's brighter buddies said after only a few moments delay. "How'd that happen, man? I thought you were the brainiac the teachers actually liked?"

Hank waited until the laughter had died down, then grinned conspiratorially. "As it would happen, I encountered a rather…interesting flaw in the school's architecture. You see," he leaned in a bit, "there's a rather small and heretofore undiscovered rupture in the otherwise impenetrable fortification surrounding the girls' locker room. If one is discrete, one can catch a fairly impressive view of the varsity soccer team changing out of their uniforms." He sighed dramatically, and added, "It's really unfortunate that one of the coaches entered at an inopportune time. I'm fairly certain they'll be repairing the breach soon, and I believe it's nearly time for the cheerleaders to finish their practice."

Bobby clamped his hand over his mouth and fought back a laugh. Hank was totally improvising, but he'd come up with the perfect means of getting Rankin's friends out of the locker room. It was just too bad it wasn't true. There were cheerleaders he definitely wouldn't mind seeing sans uniforms.

"Hold it. Dude, you mean the hole's still there in the wall? What're we waiting for? Show us where!"

"You losers go ahead, I'm gonna catch a shower," Rankin said dismissively, then gave them a predatory grin that set all Bobby's little brotherly protective instincts on high alert. "I've got Grey to check out tomorrow, without being a peeping tom about it."

"Lucky guy," his other friend joked with a roll of his eyes, elbowing Hank in the side. "You know her, don't you? You guys live at that weird boarding school that isn't even a school anymore. Tell me, is it true her legs are locked at the knees?"

Okay, that was it. Bobby gritted his teeth and prepared to let them all have it. He'd deal with the consequences later; no one was going to get away with talking about Jeannie like that while he was around. He held off, though, as he heard Hank force out a laugh.

"Let's allow Rankin to determine that for himself, shall we? In any case, any answer I might provide would be idle speculation, as I've no firsthand experience to speak of."

"What are you, gay?" one of the retreating voices replied.

Hank laughed more genuinely, his voice fading as they neared the locker room door. "No indeed. Though amusingly, I once told one of the girls that I was, in an attempt to avoid her advances. You know her, that dark haired girl who writes the pithy gossip columns for the school paper…"

Hank's voice faded entirely, and Bobby took a deep breath and grinned evilly. First stage complete. Assuming Pietro was in place, this was going to be a breeze.

He waited until Rankin had turned on the water, then slid from his vantage point and crept along the wall to the doorway. Sure enough, there the jerk was, fortunately facing the opposite direction from where he was standing. He gave the wave that was supposed to serve as Maximoff's signal, then focused in and iced the floor under Rankin's feet.

The results were everything he could've hoped, and more. Before Pietro could even act, Rankin turned a little, apparently catching the gesture out of the corner of his eye. And promptly slipped, his arms cartwheeling like a cartoon character's as his feet shot out from under him. A blur confirmed that Maximoff was doing his part, so Bobby resisted the urge to stick around and watch and hightailed it to the door, grinning.

Date cancelled. He was sleeping until noon on Saturday. Scott owed him.

* * *

"Yeah, he called and cancelled," Jean was saying into the phone as Bobby wandered past her room. She sounded disappointed, and for a moment he felt a brief surge of guilt, which passed as soon as he remembered what Rankin and his friends had said about her. The jerk had gotten what he deserved, and Jean'd get over it soon enough.

He hung around outside the door for a moment, though, careful to keep out of sight. Jean almost had to be talking to Wanda, and somehow, Wanda was hooked into the school gossip circuit 24/7. Even one sided, this could be good.

"No, he didn't really say why, just something about not being in school tomorrow – what?" He heard Jean flip over on her bed, a risked a peek around the edge of the door. Sure enough, she was in her favorite "listening to gossip" position – on her stomach with her feet resting against the middle of her headboard, her arms propped up on her elbows.

"No way. You can't tell me someone painted his face with Salem's colors and scrawled "I'm a chauvinist pig" across his chest in permanent marker, and he has no _idea_ who it was." She paused for a moment, then asked, "Are you sure your brother wasn't involved?"

"No, I know you weren't the one dating Calvin. Maybe he thought you were?"

"No, no one here at the Center could've done that and gotten away with it."

"Yeah, maybe it is totally unrelated. He said he'd be in touch, but I don't know…maybe whoever painted that on him was right? Besides, the basketball team has that hot new center this year…"

Bobby groaned and smacked himself in the forehead as he continued down the hall, a late wakeup call on Saturday no longer a foregone conclusion. Apparently he had his work cut out for him. Next time, though, he was investing in the surveillance equipment he needed to do the job right. He turned down the hall towards Warren's room. Warren, he was sure, wouldn't mind contributing one of his credit cards to a noble cause.

Even less so if he were still on his date.


End file.
